


The King and His Scribe

by jetredgirl



Series: Memoriam [5]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetredgirl/pseuds/jetredgirl
Summary: One month since he has left us, and The Goblin King helps his scribe come to terms.





	The King and His Scribe

The scribe sat on the steps to the castle staring unseeing out at the Goblin city, and past that at the great maze.

Tears clouded her eyes.

The one that gave their king life had left them. The light he shone on the land had gone out. Everything felt dark and lifeless.

Sadness permeated everywhere. The musicians, the singers, the dancers and poets and writers and all the citizens everywhere were sullen and subdued. All wore black stars in a show of mourning.

"I don't understand how this happened." She mumbled to herself. "You were supposed to live forever. You were supposed to be immortal. How could such a being be taken from us in such a way? How dare any sort of sickness think it worthy enough to take you from us? We need you here with us. What are we supposed to do now?!"

Her voice had risen until is was loud enough to echo over the empty courtyard.

She laid her head in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking in despair.

From behind came the sound of footsteps on the stairs coming towards her. Boots clicking on the stone.

A shadow appeared beside the scribe as she sensed him crouching down, and a hand laid upon her arm.

"My scribe?" A quiet voice asked.

The scribe's head rose and she wiped her eyes. "Oh..I am sorry my king. I try to be well but there are times when the sadness becomes too much."

He moved to sit next to her, his long hair moving slightly in the breeze, a solemn look on his handsome face. So like the face of the one that made him, but not quite.

"I understand. Sometimes I am sad as well." Noting her eyes widening as she turned her head to look at him, he continued. "Yes, even me. After all, I am one of his creations. He gave me life. For that I am forever grateful and his loss hurts us all."

"What are we to do?" The scribe asked, looking for some sort of answer from her wise king.

He thought a moment, then spoke."We go on, my subject. We keep his spirit alive by continuing to live. We become that with which he continues to live. His body, the vehicle in which he moved through the world, became sick and worn, so it gave out. However, that does not mean the life force within gave out. It is as vital, as alive, as it has always been. He no longer has means to move through this world, so we become that means. We, collectively, are the new vehicle for his spirit to use."

The scribe was confused. How could that work? "I don't understand, Your Majesty."

The king gave her a knowing smile. "The creator was wise. He knew someday he would not be among us. He knew someday the life energy contained within his body would be freed from physical form and he would able to spread it among us all. So he gave us the tools to tap into it. If we close our eyes and just feel for it, we can find it again. Each of us may find a different way of doing it, but if you give it time, you will find it. He is there, waiting silently, watching, smiling."

"I just don't know." The sad scribe answered, sniffing back tears. "I sometimes think I feel him again. A touch, a slight prickling of joy he always brought me. I am afraid. I am afraid I will never get it back completely though."

The king nodded in understanding. "This was his final lesson to us, my dear scribe. That of overcoming fear. Of course he felt fear, but he worked to transcend it, get past it, accept it, even use it as motivation. In the end, he wanted us to do the same. To someday be able to let go of the fear, push through the pain, and find peace within ourselves. All of us someday will make the same journey he has made. We must be brave and strong, we must look into the face of death and not let it scare us to the point that we lose our will to live. He fought like a beast for every breath, and when the end came, he knew it was time to go and went with peace. He showed us that death itself can never conquer life, or art. The magic he wove remains in our hands, minds, and hearts. He knew that everything he did, every trial he took on, would not be forgotten. That even though we would grieve, we would live. We would use what he gave us, what he still giving us, and keep his energy moving, growing, expanding, and alive."

The scribe gave her king a small smile. "I think I understand now, my king. I promise, even in my sadness, I won't give up. I'll keep trying to find the light again. I will try not to be afraid anymore."

The king smiled back. "Good." He stood and turned to go back to the castle, but paused.

"Don't you have a story to finish? You've been dawdling far too long. I have been patient because I understand you are mourning, but I do expect you to finish you know."

The scribe stood and bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty. My apologies."

The king "You are a good and loyal scribe, dear, I would hate to have to bog you." He gave her an indulgent smile that said he had no intention of doing so, but was trying to make her laugh.

She complied, giggling. "Thank you. I will repair to my quarters and get to work then."

The king inclined his head then went back to the castle.

The scribe looked and noticed, for the first time in weeks, the sun shining through the clouds.

She gathered her robes about her and dashed off to follow her king's orders.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Written one month after our King's passing.


End file.
